Beyond the Veil
by tartan-slippers
Summary: At the end of a tragic life, Sirius Black is blown beyond the veil to his death. Here is a little bit of happiness for a man who saw so very little of it.


**A/N: This little one-shot popped into my head yesterday when thinking about Sirius, and how miserable and tragic a life he led. I wanted to give him some sort of happy ending, so here it goes.**

 **I own absolutely nothing relating to Harry Potter or the wizarding world.**

* * *

Sirius Black was feeling on top of the world. Finally he was playing a part in the Order's fight against Voldemort, fighting alongside James' son the way he'd once fought alongside James. Finally he was free of the prison that first his mother and then the Order had trapped him in - that dark, dingy, nightmarish house.

And now he had a chance to end his maniacal cousin, Bellatrix.

Sirius and Bellatrix were both excellent duellists. There was a connection between them - hatred and disgust but also deep knowledge of the other - and that connection left them duelling as though they were dancing. Spells shot past them or dissipated upon striking shields, and jets of light burst back towards the other.

Sirius laughed. This was what he lived for - pushing himself and his magic to limit, and protecting those he loved.

Bellatrix shot a Stunning spell towards him. He ducked in, another barking laugh escaping him.

"Come on, you can do better than that!" he taunted, his smile widening. He had not felt so alive in a very long time.

And then, so quickly he wasn't sure it had really happened, a second jet of light hit him directly in the chest.

Sirius was pushed backwards, off balance. Dread flooded him. What had she hit him with? No tragic and terrifying green light washed over him. And yet he had the resounding feeling that his luck had finally evaded him.

Backwards he fell, past something dark and silky soft, and the last thing he saw was the look of anguish in Harry's eyes.

* * *

Sirius sat up with a start, and found himself suddenly falling sideways. He had just hit a stone floor rather hard with his right hip, and next to him was the culprit: a red, squashy sofa.

 _A red squashy sofa_.

Sirius leapt to his feet, staring wildly around him. He was in the Gryffindor common room. And, much as he loved the place, this was about the stupidest place an Azkaban fugitive could decide to take a nap.

Had Harry and his friends made it back? Had they brought him here?

Sirius pulled his wand from his pocket, and quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself. Without James' cloak it wouldn't be quite as easy to sneak around Gryffindor tower, but he needed to go and see if Harry was ok. He slipped up the stairs towards the boys' dormitories, his heart thrumming in his chest.

There, a messy head of black hair sleeping soundly in his four-poster bed. Thank god. They must have made it out safely. But _how_? And why was Sirius in Hogwarts?

Very carefully, he snuck up to the side of Harry's bed, and gently shook him.

"Harry," he hissed, "Harry, wake up. I need to know what happened tonight."

Harry rolled over, swatting at Sirius sleepily.

"Bog off, Sirius. Not now."

It hurt Sirius' heart sometimes how much Harry sounded like his father. He missed his best friend so much, and he'd be so proud of his son.

"Harry, please. I need to get out of here."

Harry gave a long-suffering sigh, and opened his hazel eyes to stare crossly at Sirius.

"Have you had too much Firewhisky or something, Pads? I'm absolutely knackered after last night with Remus, and you barging in and calling me my great-uncle's name isn't really endearing you to me right now. How about you go and drink some water and go to bed, eh?"

Sirius' jaw dropped. Those eyes. That long-suffering sigh. This was…

"James?"

James gave a sarcastic clap.

"Well done, give the dog a bone."

Sirius felt his throat constrict, and his eyes prickled. The friend he loved like a brother. The man he'd missed so badly it hurt for almost fifteen years.

He threw his arms around a spluttering James, hugging him tightly. James wriggled for a moment, objecting loudly, but something about the way Sirius clung to him registered with him, and he stilled, carefully wrapping his own arms around the trembling body of his best friend.

"Has she written to you again?" James asked, gently.

Sirius snorted. How strange it felt to think that once, a letter from his mother was the worst thing that ever happened.

"No, mate," he said, and then he hesitated. To be here, in Hogwarts with James Potter once more, something must have happened in the Department of Mysteries. He was scared to think about what this could mean. But he couldn't tell James - not yet, and not when he wasn't sure what was real.

"I just, you know, missed you."

"Alright," James said, carefully, in the way he had spoken to Sirius countless times before when he was fragile and inebriated, "Why don't you get to bad, eh, Pads?"

But there wasn't time for that.

"I can't," Sirius said, letting go of James and rising to his feet, "I have to go and see Dumbledore."

"Shit," James swore, "What have you done that needs _Dumbledore_?"

Sirius smiled, softly, drinking in the sight of his best friend once more.

"I'll be back in a bit," he said, smiling, and hoping beyond hope it wasn't a lie.

Sirius raced out of the dormitory, down the stairs and across the common room before leaping out of the portrait hole. He tore through Hogwarts' corridors and took the steps on the staircases two at a time. He was panting, hard, but he didn't slow. He had to make sure Harry was alright.

Peeves shrieked with glee and Sirius ran past him, delighted with the prospect of trouble.

"What have you _done_?" the poltergeist's voice followed him as his feet pounded the stone.

Finally, Sirius skidded to a halt outside the Headmaster's office. The gargoyle watched him, waiting.

"I don't have the password, but just this once, _please_ , I have to speak to Professor Dumbledore. It's Sirius Black."

He wasn't sure whether his plea was accepted, or whether he'd inadvertently given the password, but the stone gargoyle moved to one side, and he made his way up the spiral steps.

Dumbledore was at his desk, wearing a powder-pink pyjama set and fluffy bunny slippers. He looked up as Sirius entered, and his face burst into a smile like the dawning sun.

"So, you've made it."

"Sir," Sirius asked, "What happened? Where's Harry? And how did I end up… here?"

Dumbledore's smile wavered a little.

"I have both good news and bad news for you, Mr Black. The good news is that Harry and his friends are fine, and are safe back at Hogwarts. For now. He has a hard road ahead of him, but he is a strong man. Additionally, Voldemort did not succeed at retrieving the prophecy."

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. Harry was ok. They'd made it. And he had thwarted Voldemort once again.

"The bad news, I'm afraid, is that you weren't quite so fortunate. I'm sorry to say that you are no longer of that world, Mr Black."

 _No longer of that…_

"So," Sirius said, carefully and with a voice on the edge of breaking, "I'm dead?"

"In a matter of speaking. You did not, in fact, die - the spell that hit you was a mere Stunning Spell, however you rather unfortunately crossed the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead. It is a one-way crossing, Mr Black, and so, whilst you are not in fact yet dead, you are _effectively_ dead."

Sirius didn't know what to say. Once, he had wished he was dead - only that very base and instinctive fight that all life has within them to live kept him from making the choice himself. Once, he would have given anything to be with his friends again. But now?

"What about Harry?"

"Don't worry," Dumbledore said with a sad smile, "You will see him again. Just hope that it is as far from now as possible, and that he brings you an entire lifetime of stories to share with you."

Sirius bit his lip, hard. His longing to see Harry much sooner than a lifetime from now was rooted in his own selfishness, and Dumbledore was right. An entire lifetime of stories would be a very magical thing to share with his beloved godson.

"Usually, this would be where I leave you," Dumbledore said, his eyes looking so deeply into Sirius' that he wondered if the aged wizard could see every thought he'd ever had, "however we have decided that you, Mr Black, deserve both an explanation and a reward."

"'We', sir?"

Dumbledore smiled.

"You might have guessed, Mr Black, that I am only a shade of your Albus Dumbledore. He has not yet, in fact, crossed the veil, and thus I can only be his reflection. In this particular instance, it was decided by the four powers that this was the best form to give you your explanation."

"Four powers," Sirius said, weakly.

"Love, laughter, fear and death. The four great powers that fuel all magic, and all of life. The powers which decide where we spend our days after our lives are complete. For some, that is out in the cold and the dark, alone forever. For others, it is at a great party, surrounded by those we love, and with the chance to watch and cheer on those who are yet to finish their time on earth. And for those who have been here the longest, whose loved ones have all finally joined them once more and who have seen the patterns of the ages, it is in their very own common rooms, surrounded by their family and friends, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the peace of the evening forever more.

"You, however, Mr Black, have been chosen for a slightly different path."

Sirius' stomach lurched. Something different? Would he be denied the people he loved and longed to see? Had he really made so little of his life that he didn't deserve his loved ones? It would be easy to argue that that was the case - with so many years spent drained of all happy thoughts and memories, he hadn't made much of those four powers.

"Your life has been heavily weighted against you," Dumbledore said, sadness leaching the colour from his face, "and yet your heart has stayed loyal and loving. Your handful of happy years triumphed over the long spell of the darkness of Azkaban, and you laughed again. You did not give in to fear, and you did not truly die.

"Because of this, the powers have decided to let your spirit be healed."

"Healed?" Sirius questioned, "How does someone heal a spirit?"

"By giving you _time_ , Mr Black. You should have had another thirty-two years, two months and eleven days to live, to grow and to heal your wounded spirit before you met us here. And so, before you join the rather excellent party where Lily and James Potter are watching their son save the world, you have been given that time back. We have brought you here, to the place and time when you were most happy, and we have given you this time to heal.

"I can imagine you would enjoy reliving your sixth year at Hogwarts, Mr Black, with no cares about your family, or your homework, or the war that was beginning outside these walls. Just you and your friends, in your prime, in the castle that was your only real home once more. And once your time is finally up, you can join their spirits forever, the way you were always meant to."

Sirius didn't know what to say, but his heart was bursting. Time to soak in the love and laughter of his happiest years, and then the chance to join his friends forever?

That sounded rather like heaven.


End file.
